


feels so scary getting old

by gaylovecan



Category: The Goldfinch (2019), The Goldfinch - Donna Tartt
Genre: Addiction, Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bipolar Disorder, Character Study, Eating Disorders, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mentions of Suicide, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Slow Burn, Therapy, Trauma, not explicitly discussed but the content could be triggering to people with an ed, this makes it sound really sad I promise it's a happy fic!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-11
Updated: 2020-08-19
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:29:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25850608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gaylovecan/pseuds/gaylovecan
Summary: “Potter, please! You’re scaring me… do I have to call someone for help?” The thought of anyone else being made aware of this scared my voice back to me for a moment.“Not hurt,” I gasped, through heaving sobs. “Not in trouble, just wanted to talk to you.” I managed to get out before my throat closed, only letting out high whimpers.“Okay, I talk. You just need to listen, don’t worry Potter, everything will be okay.”~Theo goes to therapy and learns how to work through his past.(Boris helps and they learn they can move forward together)EDIT: I planned on making this fic much longer but I haven’t felt inspired to write it for a while so I decided to mark it as finished. I think it ends on a positive and hopeful note, even though more therapy is usually necessary to deal with an issue this big. I might come back and add more to this in the future, so if that’s something you’re interested in, please leave a comment with anything you feel still needs to be addressed or you would like to see 😊 Thanks and take care of yourselves!
Relationships: Theodore Decker/Boris Pavlikovsky
Comments: 19
Kudos: 51





	1. this dream isn't feeling sweet

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so happy I'm finally posting this! I've been sitting on this idea since March waiting for the right time to release it and now is that time!
> 
> I have a good idea of where I want this fic to go but I haven't written all the chapters yet. I am aiming to release a new chapter a week however I don't want to be too hard on myself. I'm just gonna go with the flow.
> 
> The title is from the song "Ribs" by Lorde (which is totally a boreo song) and each chapter title will be a quote from the song.
> 
> This fic takes place after the events of the Goldfinch and mainly follows book canon (though it has been a year since I read it so if I got something wrong or mixed anything up just let me know!)
> 
> Trigger warnings will be found in the notes at the beginning of every chapter. The trigger warnings for this chapter are:  
> -Discussions of mental health  
> -Explicit description of vomiting  
> -Brief mentions of addiction
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After leaving his 12th therapist, Theo feels like giving up his journey to find help, but Pippa convinces his to give therapy another shot.

Once everything was done, painting back where it belongs, changelings re-bought and those who bought them compensated, phone numbers exchanged with Boris and the promise to see each other soon, I went to see a therapist. And then another one and another one and another one. In the span of two years, I visited 12 different therapists, counsellors, and shrinks urged by Hobie’s concern and Pippa’s insistence.

The first one, Holly, was nice enough but not a good fit. She was an older lady, with curly grey hair and warm brown eyes, whose office always smelt like chamomile. Unfortunately, said office was located right around the corner from the Met, meaning I had to either pass by the museum on the way to and from every visit, or add an extra twenty minutes to my travels. I wouldn’t have gone there in the first place if I knew how close it was to the place where my life ended, except Mrs Barbour had recommended it to me, it was where she went after dealing with the loss of her husband and son. Holly agreed that was not conducive behaviour for recovery, being so close to the place I was trying to move on from. 

“Besides,” Holly said, after our 15th appointment, “As a general therapist, I don’t think I have the training required to truly be able to help you. From what you have told me about your habits, I think you might be better off talking to an addiction counsellor.” That was about as much as I had told her, 15 visits and other than the basic information about my mom’s death, I only just started opening up about the drug use in the most vague terms. 

Holly referred me to the Realization Centre, a clinic that specializes in addiction and was thankfully located much further from the Met. The first counsellor I spoke to there, Kashvi, was a young woman, probably only a few years older than me, who always insisted on making me masala chai tea and gave me homemade Jalebi at every appointment. She was as smart as a whip and straight to the point and would have been perfect except she was moving to Maine, something she announced after our 10th appointment.

“Theodore don’t you dare give up,” She spoke in her clear, crisp voice that left no room for argument. “You deserve to be happy.” In a rare moment of warmth, she pulled me into a hug and for a second it felt like having a mother again. 

The centre transferred me to one of their other counsellors, an old man whose name I can’t recall. The only thing I remember about him was his incessant urging that I attend a group therapy session. He spoke on the miracles talking to others who are struggling can create and the wonders of relating to people. After 3 appointments of nagging, I asked to be transferred again.

The final counsellor I saw at the Realization centre, Leonard, was the worst one I would ever have. Middle-aged and stuck up, every appointment consisted of judgemental comments and criticisms, constantly shocked that I hadn’t kicked 10 years of addiction after a couple of appointments.

“You know,” Leonard said during our 5th appointment, “You wouldn’t have so many issues with addiction if you tried harder. I can tell you don’t want to change. Who are you trying to appease by coming here?” I left that day and never went back, offering no explanation for my disappearance.

After that, I was going to quit looking for a therapist altogether, preferring to wallow in self-pity and continue on my path towards self destruction. Apparently, Hobie saw this and contacted Pippa who staged an intervention. Two weeks after I stopped going to therapy, I got a call from her, begging me to give therapy another chance. 

“Please Theo, I know what it’s like! Feeling like your life is over! I was at the museum that day too, remember? I would be nowhere near where I am today without a lot of help! You can’t give up just because one idiot doesn’t see what you are capable of… you have so many people who believe in you!” This lecture went on for about an hour and only ended when I promised to give therapy another chance. “I do love you Theo, even though it’s not in the way you want me to. I just want you to be happy.”

I thought that would be the end of it, but of course it wasn’t, not with Pippa. I love her, and it’s finally started feeling the way it’s supposed to, but she was nothing if not dedicated. 

Somehow, it seemed, Pippa had managed to contact Boris. I don’t know when she had a long enough conversation with him to even get his number but she was resourceful and clever. Boris’ efforts came a few days later in the form of his usual nearly indecipherable texts, sporadic waves of messages.

Borya [3:14 am]  
red said u need help!!!

Borya [3:14 am]  
u speak to peopl

Borya [4:48 am]  
NO SHAME

Borya [5:03]  
i get HELP too if u promise

3 missed calls from Borya [6:22 am]

Theo [8:05 am]  
I was sleeping and I already promised Pippa. I will call and make an appointment today, I promise. 

Borya [8:06 am]  
gr8! i make call for my help we get help 2gether

Theo [8:10 am]  
Do you ever sleep? And where are you right now?

Borya [8:11 am]  
am in motherland right now XD i dont sleep no need

Borya [8:31 am]  
u are working now yes? busy man we talk soon :D

Borya [11:11 am]  
i miss you :’(

[Read 11:23 am]

I kept true on my word and kept going to therapy, with Hobie helping me whenever continuing felt hopeless, keeping me on track. Pippa checked in with me too, every so often, making sure I was on the right path.

Yet, through the countless hours spent in strange offices, the withdrawals each time I tried to quit, the guilt every time I relapsed, Boris’ promise stuck with me. Would he actually go see someone? I tried to imagine Boris Pavlikovsky sitting across from some old, bespectacled lady talking about his problems, trying to get better, but I conjured up a blank. 

We had been texting less frequently recently, though still enough to keep me feeling sane. It was my fault, the lack of communication. I had a hard time baring my heart as much as Boris, even with the small things. Every time Boris commented on how long it had been since we had last seen each other, every time he mentioned he was thinking of me, each “I miss you” text left me feeling shaky, knees weak, with nerves or butterflies dancing in my stomach. It made me feel like I had to throw up, but I couldn’t decide if that was a bad thing.

Regardless, I never could warrant those messages with a reply, despite how desperately I reciprocated. How much I wanted to beg him to come to New York, just so I could see his face. How much I wanted to tell him "Being apart from you is a physical ache, a pain in my chest so strong I am never not thinking about it, how the strangest things make the pain flare, like the smell of a cigarette as I’m walking down the street, the sound of Popper barking, even the sight of myself in the mirror, looking wrong, as though something integral is missing".

Of course, I could never admit any of that to Boris, and anyways, I had work to do. Balancing sales in the store with ploughing my way through what seemed like every therapist in New York City. Through the hippie who insisted all my problems would be solved if only I took up yoga, to the Christian therapist whose crucifixes which made me uneasy, and to the strangest old man whose office always smelt of wet dog.

Each time I left a therapist, I felt more and more dejected, sure that therapy just wasn’t right for me. Nobody had ever been able to help me before, what should make now any different? 

It was a sunny afternoon in May when I left my 12th therapist’s office for the last time, sure I should just give up, when I got a phone call from Pippa. I’m sure that girl has psychic powers, since she always managed to call when I needed it most.

“Hi Theo!” Her voice chimed through my phone. “How are you?” It was the subtlest tone of her voice, like she knew something was wrong.

“It’s funny you should call now,” I laughed bitterly. “I just left my therapist’s office, or, well, he’s not my therapist anymore. I just told him I wouldn’t be returning.”

“Oh, why is that?” The nice thing about Pippa was that she was never really judgemental. Anyone else would be exasperated that I managed to find a reason to leave each and everyone of my 11 previous therapists, but Pippa was genuinely curious, wanting to know what happened and to support me through it.

“Honestly, he sort of intimidated me. I didn’t feel comfortable opening up.” That was the understatement of a century. The man used to be a prison psychologist and you could tell. He was buff and burly, the kind of look that told you not to mess with him. Fifteen visits and he still scared the hell out of me. 

“That’s understandable.” Pippa’s voice, crinkling through my speaker, sounded sincere. She always understood, whether it be the look of the office, a piece of advice they gave that struck the wrong nerve, or simply the energy they gave off. “I was actually calling to tell you about a therapist I had heard about!” 

“Oh..?” I wasn’t really in the mood to talk about a new therapist quite yet, still feeling the sting of my most recent failure, but I could never say no to Pippa.

“Yeah! I was talking to one of my friends from school.” I knew she meant her school in Switzerland, the one for troubled teens. She didn’t really like to talk about her time there much and I figured it hadn’t been a very positive time in her life, but on occasion she mentioned some friends she kept in contact with all these years later. “She lives in New York now and she was telling me about this therapist she has been seeing, says she’s really good! My friend’s struggled with a lot of things, ever since I met her in school, and she’s been in and out of therapy her whole life, but she told me this lady is a miracle worker! Knows just how to help her!”

“Wow, Pip, that sounds great!” I tried for enthusiasm, hoping she couldn’t hear how ingenuine it was over the phone. I would go check out this lady, of course I would, for Pippa, but that didn’t mean I had to be happy about it. 

“Yeah, I mean, who knows if she’ll work for you, only, this friend has dealt with a lot of the same issues I think you have been struggling with.” Hobie always sort of knew about the drug addiction, preferring to look away for the most part, but I guess he let it slip to Pippa because she had a knowing air about her. “Even if it doesn’t work out, it doesn’t hurt to try, right?” I hummed in agreement, concentrating more on weaving through the New York traffic than on what she was saying. 

“Okay, I’ll send you the address! And Theo… don’t be a stranger. Remember, I’ve been through this too. And, if you don’t want to reach out to me, I understand, but you have other people who want to help you: Hobie, your friends…” She trailed off, seemingly realizing that I actually didn’t have that many people. “Just don’t shut people out.” She finished firmly.

“Speaking of that, how did you manage to get in contact with Boris and convince him to do your bidding?” It was a question that had been nagging me ever since he texted.

“I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about Theodore,” But I could hear the smile in her voice. “Me? Scheming? Ridiculous! Preposterous! I can’t believe I am facing such unwarranted accusations from my own friend!” She was giggling and I couldn’t help the smile that fell onto my face. Then, in the background, I heard someone talking. “What was that, dear?” Pippa was not talking to me though. “Oh, Everett says hi! I actually have to go now, dinner’s ready, but promise me you’ll go check this therapist out!”

“I promise.” Sighing exasperatedly, we exchanged our goodbyes and hung up. A few moments after the call ended, I got the text from Pippa, divulging all the details of the therapist she recommended. I only read “Mindful Psychotherapy Services” before I shut my phone off and tucked it away in my coat pocket.

The rest of my walk home, I thought about our conversation. She never did answer me about Boris and she wouldn’t be able to get away with non-answers forever, but I would let it rest for now. 

The mention of Everett didn’t make my blood boil nearly as much as it would have in the past. I still felt the twang of jealousy, but that was becoming much overpowered by feelings of respect and companionship. I don’t consider him a friend, not yet, but he makes Pippa happy and right now that’s good enough for me. 

Even though most of my previous counsellors hadn’t been great, a few of them had started giving me tips for surmounting the feelings of envy I held against others. I was told to stop holding myself to such a high standard, to understand that those I were resentful of definitely had their own issues that I couldn’t see. Instead, I should look for the qualities in them that I admire and appreciate them for those traits, instead of coveting what I could never have.

These thoughts kept my mind entertained until I reached the door to the shop, the sign proclaiming “CLOSED”. Despite it being a Tuesday, the store was closed, as Hobie deemed Tuesday’s therapy day. He insisted that closing the store for one extra day a week would not be a detriment to sales, but instead an investment as the better my mental wellbeing was, the more furniture I could sell. I knew he didn’t give a damn about sales, and only said this to appease me, but the sentiment was appreciated and I inevitably agreed. 

Walking past the closed up shop, I felt warmth erupt in my chest despite the bad day I had. This place was home, even before I moved in, before I went to Vegas, I felt the pull of this house from the first time I entered. Something about it screamed safe and warm and comfort. 

I walked around to the entrance to the house, already unbuttoning my light jacket. As I entered the house, I called out to Hobie, expecting him to be in his workshop, but he startled me as he emerged from the kitchen, an apron wrapped around him.

The apron had been a gift from Pippa the Christmas that had just passed, proclaiming the slogan “Best Dad Ever!” Hobie had offered his quiet but sincere gratitude at the time, but Theo had heard him weeping happily to himself after Pippa and Everett had left, and Hobie wore the apron proudly every chance he could get.

“Theo, how did your appointment go today?” The dreaded question that I knew was coming. Hobie was just as understanding as Pippa was about the string of abandoned therapist’s that trailed behind me, but I could tell he was upset every time one didn’t work out. Not upset at me, but upset for my sake. He always told me that he wanted me to be happy, a sentiment he had been much more vocal about recently. 

“That was my last appointment with him.” I replied, tonelessly. I was already tired of talking about my latest failure but I couldn’t just blow Hobie off, so I told him what had happened.

Once I finished recounting the story to Hobie, I told him Pippa’s news.

“She told me about a therapist nearby that her friend likes. I told her I would go check it out.”

“That’s excellent, Theo! I’m so pleased with the effort you’ve been making in all this,” Hobie walked back into the kitchen, knowing I would follow. “I imagine all of this is very difficult, but the way you keep moving through it is admirable.” 

Hobie rarely looked at me when he made these confessions, which was all the better for me. I felt myself beam with pride at his words, but would have been incredibly embarrassed if he had witnessed that. Something about my emotions being clear on my face made me uneasy, and I always resented my body when it betrayed me.

Hobie always knew when to move on from a topic and today was no different, as he steered the conversation away from me and my appointment and onto the latest restoration he was working on, talking while the smell of chile grew stronger.

I had gone to bed that night with a rare full stomach, generally preferring to avoid food as it always made me feel quite ill. On the occasions Hobie cooked, though, I simply couldn’t refuse, but that decision came back to bite at about three in the morning when the food made its unpleasant return. 

I expelled the contexts of the chili from my stomach, feeling the revolting texture of the ground beef as it passed through my mouth. Shaking and shivering while I was bent heaving over the toilet, I thought of reaching for the pills I still shamefully kept hidden in my cabinet, when the muscle memory of the last time I was in this position washed over me: Amsterdam, the prior rapture of seeing my mother melting away as I felt myself drift from my body, the shock of being pulled from my stupor into the bathroom, where I sat hunched over a toilet, Boris rubbing my back and murmuring in my ear- Boris!

I crawled back into my room once I felt the nausea ebb, searching for his contact in my phone. I was about to call him when I stopped, finger hovering over his number. Would he want me calling at such a late hour, depending on where he was? Would he be busy and upset with me for interrupting? That thought was so ludicrous that, despite my situation, I laughed, experiencing a brief moment of clarity. Boris would never be upset with me for reaching out to him.

I tapped down on his number, and felt the dread creep back in as the phone rang. What if… But he picked up after only the second ring, allowing my worries to dissipate. 

“Potter…?” His voice was still groggy with sleep, but he didn’t sound the least bit irritated. “Something wrong?” I was going to tell him what had happened, but the words caught in my throat and instead I let out an uncharacteristic sob. 

I don’t know what came over me at that moment, but I started crying and I just couldn’t stop. I heard Boris’ small gasp over the phone before he flew into speech.

“What happened? Are you in trouble? Hurt? Please talk to me, tell me what is wrong?” I tried to catch my breath enough to explain what was happening, but my throat was wracked with sobs and I didn’t even know what I would have told him if I could speak? Oh sorry Boris I was throwing up in my bathroom so I decided to call you and the sound of your voice made me burst into tears? He would think I had gone crazy and honestly I don’t think I could disagree. 

“Potter, please! You’re scaring me… do I have to call someone for help?” The thought of anyone else being made aware of this scared my voice back to me for a moment.

“Not hurt,” I gasped, through heaving sobs. “Not in trouble, just wanted to talk to you.” I managed to get out before my throat closed, only letting out high whimpers. 

“Okay, I talk. You just need to listen, don’t worry Potter, everything will be okay.” I drifted in and out of consciousness while Boris blathered on, not paying attention to a word he said. He could have been speaking a different language, for all I knew he probably was, but instead of focusing on his words, I focused on the cadence of his voice, the smooth sound washing over me until my gasping breaths leveled out into hushed sighs and, finally, the deep exhale as I fell back to sleep.


	2. we can talk it so good

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Theo meets a new therapist and remembers what hope feels like.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is already the longest thing I've ever written and I'm so excited!
> 
> Disclaimer: I'm not a therapist and I have no experience with what a therapist would do for someone dealing with addiction so I'm trying my best to give advice that would actually work. Sorry if any of the therapy aspect of the story is inaccurate.
> 
> Trigger warnings for this chapter:  
> -non-explicit sexual content  
> -non-specific discussions of mental health
> 
> Enjoy!

I woke up feeling considerably better than I had last night. My mouth tasted horrendous, seeing as I hadn’t brushed my teeth again after vomiting, and my head was still pounding but I didn’t feel like I would throw up again, the rolling in my stomach I felt last night was gone, and I felt strangely well rested. 

After brushing my teeth twice, I downed 3 cups of cold water in quick succession and set downstairs to make some toast, hoping it would keep my stomach settled. I grabbed my phone from where it had fallen on the floor and opened it up as I walked down the stairs.

My calling history was still open from my phone call with Boris and did a double-take when I saw it. 3 hours. Our phone call had lasted 3 hours. From my hazy memory of last night, I talked (well, mostly listened) to him for about 10 minutes before I started tuning out what he was saying and it couldn’t have taken me that long to fall asleep afterwards, maybe half an hour? So what was going on the rest of the time. 

I swear, if Boris forgot to end the call before he fell asleep… the minutes that call wasted and only for us to both be sleeping? Whatever, I’d call him today and ask him if next time he could try to remember to hang up before he went to sleep.

… Not that there would be a next time. Last night was a fluke, probably the product of throwing up mixed with little sleep. I don’t plan on calling him every night crying about nothing. 

I rounded into the kitchen, making myself a cup of mint tea (Pippa told me it helps with nausea) and a slice of dry toast, before joining Hobie at the table. He was drinking a cup of coffee and reading the newspaper, but he looked up as I walked in.

“How’d you sleep?” This was becoming a routine question as Hobie tried to play a more active role in my mental wellbeing. I knew he felt responsible for the issues I have, despite the number of times I have told him that he is the biggest reason I haven’t gone completely off the rails. 

“Surprisingly well,” I replied, before carefully sipping on my tea, spluttering when it burnt my tongue. Hobie just laughed at my impatience and went back to reading his newspaper.

After a few moments, Hobie started talking again. Without looking up from his paper, he asked, “How’s Boris doing?” This question was considerably more surprising. Hobie was unsure of Boris when they first met, but Boris, with his genuine interest in Hobie’s furnature, eventually grew on him. However, that doesn't mean that Boris was a usual topic of conversation.

Boris hadn’t been to New York in over a year, and the last time he was here it was only for a day. Hobie had talked to him briefly when he showed up at the door, surprising me, but they hadn’t seen each other since.

“Um, he’s good, I think?” Hobie continued reading through the newspaper, only acknowledging my response with a considering hum. “Why do you ask?” I tried to keep my voice level as I spoke but Hobie bringing up Boris randomly after the night I just had was putting me on edge. 

“Well, I woke up around 3am to get a glass of water and I heard voices coming from your room,” Fuck, I thought. If Hobie heard my meltdown he’s gonna be worried about me for weeks. Seeming to sense my concern, Hobie quickly continued. “I didn’t eavesdrop, Theodore, do you really think that lowly of me?” But his voice was teasing. “I just heard a man’s voice speaking in a foreign language coming from your room, so I assumed…”

“Yeah, that was Boris,” I laughed awkwardly, scratching the back of my neck. 3am? Boris was still up and talking to me at 3am? I must have been asleep for an hour by then.

Hobie, ever aware of my emotions, only flicked his eyes up from the paper to look at me briefly before going back to reading his newspaper. We sat together in silence for a few minutes before Hobie spoke up again.

“I don’t mean to pry Theo. I’m just happy the two of you are staying in contact. He seems to be good for you.” I stifled a laugh but hours later as I was going through some paperwork while watching over the store, I couldn’t get the thought out of my head. My relationship with Boris was so complicated but I guess he did help me in some areas. He had definitely helped me last night, though I still don’t know how.

I fished out my phone from my pocket, allowing the one older couple to browse in peace. Opening up my messages app, I clicked on Boris’ name. Smiling at the last text Boris had sent, I started composing a new message.

Theo [3:17pm]  
Hi Boris, are you busy right now?

Borya [3:17pm]  
nver 2 busy 2 tty

Theo [3:18pm]  
Why can’t you just type like a normal person?  
Borya [3:19pm]  
wOW is not my fault

Borya [3:19pm]  
eng is my 2 language

Borya [3:20pm]  
u hold me to eng standards????

Borya [3:20pm]  
is not my fault u text like old man

Theo [3:21pm]  
Jeez okay Boris I’m sorry. 

Borya [3:21pm]  
haha is okay potter, just loosen up a little, this isnt english class

I didn’t know what Boris meant by “loosening up” but I thought of the way I spoke to him and tried to convey it in writing.

Theo [3:28pm]  
you’re just mad i was always better at english than you!

Borya [3:29pm]  
i speak how many languages!! so sorry my eng isnt up to your standard

Borya [3:30pm]  
so potter, done joking… what is it you want to talk to me about?

Theo [3:31pm]  
Actually can I call you later about it, there’s some customers coming to talk to me

I felt my phone buzz as I hastily shoved it into my pocket. The couple that had been idly browzing finally decided to come talk to me. 

They were nice but not very familiar with antiques so I walked them through some things to look for. The compulsion to upsell them was still there but I couldn’t go through with it, unwilling to upset Hobie again. Instead I discussed what they were looking for and their price point and they ended up leaving the store with a beautiful end table way below their budget. 

I still felt a pain in my chest because I knew I could have scammed them and gotten a much bigger reward for my efforts but Hobie and I had a talk when I came back home. He made me promise to never pull something remotely close to the mess I had pulled before. Instead I was to try to attract customers that would tell their friends about the shop or some back for more. That meant offering reasonable prices and outstanding customer service.

It still came difficultly to me but it was getting easier every time. Plus, it was worth the warm smile Hobie gave me when he asked how the sales went. We weren’t poor and struggling to pay the bills anymore, something he would remind me whenever I still admitted my reluctance. 

The rest of the day passed slowly like dripping molasses and by the time 6pm rolled around I had to stifle a yawn. Flipping the sign on the door, I remembered I still had to finish my conversation with Boris.

Boris had sent one final text after I had put my phone away

Borya [3:31pm]  
ok ttyl <3

I felt that stirring in my stomach again, but I pushed it away as I made my way to my room. Hobie was out for dinner with some friends which meant I was spared from the insistence to eat. Instead, I grabbed a cigarette and crawled out my window so I could sit on the fire escape, listening to the sounds of the city.

The call of the void was always strong out here. Despite not being up very high, the alley below was dark and shadowy, making it feel as though I could jump straight into nothingness. I ignored the pull in my chest and opened up my phone again.

I could just continue texting Boris but after what happened last night, I had to hear his voice again. Besides, this was a conversation that I think would be better spoken. 

I clicked on his number and waited for 2 rings before Boris picked up, sounding out of breath.

“Potter! How are you?” He was panting slightly, but sounded happy.

“I’m good… is this a bad time? I can call you back-”

“Nonsense, Potter! I just got back from a run but I am back at my house now,” He seemed to be puttering around because I could hear some clattering in the background.

“Since when do you run?” I pictured him running away from the cops or someone who was after him with a gun.

“No need to sound so surprised, Mr Cigarettes for Dinner. Don’t think you have the place to comment on others' health,”

“Fair enough,” I laughed, taking a drag.

“I have started running a few months ago, my therapist told me it’s good for me,”

This was the first time I had even heard Boris mention getting help since our conversation all those months ago. In all honesty, I figured he had simply said it to placate me. Never in my wildest dreams did I believe he would actually go talk to someone.

“You have a therapist?” I couldn’t keep the surprise from my voice, which Boris obviously picked up on. 

“Again with the surprise! You think so little of me, Potter? I promise to get help, I get help,” His tone was so matter of fact, despite this revelation shaking my world.

I spluttered a few times before finally managing to get out a sentence.

“I don’t know,” I said, meekly, “I wouldn’t have held you to it?” It came out as a question, but I don’t know what I was trying to ask.

“I did it because I wanted to, Potter. Not everything is about you always,” I could tell he was joking, but I was still reeling.

“How long have you been going to therapy?” I tried to do the math: if he had been running for a few months then he’d been seeing a therapist even longer. He’d never even mentioned it to me.

“Well, not seeing. We talk over the phone, maybe 1 year, little longer? I started searching right after I texted you!”

A year or longer. He’d been going to therapy for a year. I was shocked into silence and it wasn’t until Boris spoke that I realized I hadn’t said anything for a minute.

“Potter? You okay?” I shook my head and brought my cigarette to my mouth, taking a long, slow drag before blowing out with a deep exhale.

“Yeah, sorry, I’m just a little surprised. You never mentioned it before.”

“I figured you know? You go to therapy too, but we don’t talk about it. Hmm,” I could picture him doing that little one shoulder shrug he does when he feels awkward.

“Yeah, no, I mean, what would we even say about it? I guess I’m just happy for you,” As I said it, I realized it was the truth. I worried about Boris constantly, what with his addiction and criminal activities. 

Sometimes I’ll wake up from a nightmare wondering if he’ll be found dead in a ditch one day. And if that happened, how long would it take until I found out? It’s not like we’re related, there would be no reason for someone to call me. It set me on edge everytime we hadn’t talked in a while, but hearing this, that he’s getting help, offered a big sense of relief. 

He has someone to talk to, someone to notice if somethings wrong with him, someone who will notice if he goes missing. I exhaled a breath I didn’t even know I was holding and felt a smile spread across my face.

“I’m happy for me, too!” Boris replied, “I did not know it but it really does help, having someone to talk to,” At this I felt a pang of guilt. I knew I pushed away from Boris, but I still wanted to be someone he could talk to.

“You know you can talk to me too, right? I mean, I know I’m not the most open person but, I’m, um, I’m here for you,” God, talking about my feelings was like chewing glass, but it was worth it when I heard Boris’ happy laugh over the phone.

“Of course I talk to you, Potter! I love to talk to you but, and I mean no offence in saying this, you’re not really in the best position to be… how do you say… giving me advice?” He laughed at this, but I felt myself cringe, thinking of last night. “With us, it is more like, sadness loves friends? Is that the saying?”

“Misery loves company?”

“Yes! That one! We’re good at being fucked up together,” I thought about this. Our entire friendship was built off of finding each other in Vegas, one of the most fucked up times in my life. We were broken boys who managed to get through that hellscape together. 

I felt guilty again. We used to be able to talk about the things that mattered. Now I shut him out and pushed him away anytime our conversations drifted from meaningless smalltalk to more. It was all so much harder when we were so far apart. When we were together we fit together like puzzle pieces but being an ocean away made everything so hard. 

Maybe it was time to start opening up a little more, though. Boris wasn’t going to be around in person for the foreseeable future so I might as well get used to making the best of what we have.

“How is your therapy going?” I knew the change in conversation was abrupt but Boris quickly adapted and flew into all the amazing things he has learned from his therapist so far.

“Oh, Potter, he’s so wonderful! Like the father I wish I had,”

“That’s amazing! You’re lucky to get such a great guy your first time…” I knew some bitterness was creeping into my voice, but I really was happy for him. I was just a little jealous, too.

“Oh, no, he’s not my first. I went through…” He paused for a minute, probably counting on his fingers like he always did.

“9 therapists I went through!” He exclaimed proudly. “This man, Mr Davidson, he’s my 10th. I’ve been seeing him a few months? He’s the one who told me to try running. Says its good for addiction,” 

“You’re quitting now?” There wasn’t surprise in this question, only relief, despite how hypocritical that was.

“Just the hard stuff. Nicotine and marijuana are necessary evil but the rest: done! Well, not done yet, but trying!”

“Good for you, man! That’s good to hear!” 

“Yes, yes, well I’m working on it… But what about you! How is your therapy going?” The ever-dreaded question. But this was Boris, I could be honest with him.

“Not too well… I just stopped seeing my most recent counselor yesterday,” 

“Oh, that’s shit. But this is life! Any reason why?” I felt embarrassed admitting it but I knew Boris would get a good laugh out of it.

“Honestly… he scared me…” The predictable “Ha!” of a laugh rang through the phone but it was followed with genuine understanding.

“It is funny, but understandable. Can’t make progress when you are in fear,”

“Yeah, well,” I scratched the back of my neck, awkwardly. “Pippa told me about this place her friend goes to? Said they were miracle workers,”

“Well you can’t say no to miracles! Give them a call!” I laughed at his excitement.

“Boris, it’s late now. They’re probably closed now’”

“Well, look at the website. Probably you can book there,” It seemed like he was going to be insistent. I could just pretend to look them up and tell Boris that I’d call tomorrow but I might as well bite the bullet.

I put Boris on speakerphone and found my conversation with Pippa from the day before. After sending me the name of the clinic, she sent a link to their website, too. I clicked on it and watched as a calming webpage loaded on my screen. I clicked on the button for individual therapy while Boris continued talking. 

“Is good to hear that you are getting help. It’s nice to have someone to talk to who actually knows what they’re talking about,” A pause while I filled in the form to schedule a consultation when Boris brought up the inevitable topic.

“Is especially good to hear after last night… you really worried me, Theo,” I grimaced as Boris said my real name, something he only does when he’s being truly serious. I didn’t say anything.

“I was scared that you were hurt, thought you were dying…” He trailed off.

“I was fine,”

“Potter!”

“Okay, I wasn’t ‘fine’ but it really wasn’t that bad. I threw up and… I don’t know… I just didn’t feel that great…” I didn’t know what else to say. This conversation was embarrassing enough as it was.

“That’s okay. I’m glad you called me… even if you did scare that crap out of me first. Word of advice, Potter: next time you call sounding like you are dying, let me know first that you are safe. I could have had a heart attack,” He laughed and the tension eased. Boris always knew how to turn an unfortunate citation around.

“Speaking of last night, why was our phone call 3 hours long?”

“Oh, I wanted to make sure you stayed asleep, so I stayed until I had to go,” He didn’t even have the decency to sound the least bit sheepish. I rolled my eyes at his disregard, but I could feel my cheeks warm at the same time.

“Do you know how much that phone call is gonna cost me? I don’t have unlimited minutes like some people. Not everyone can afford that, Boris. Maybe a hitman like you…?” I had taken to trying to guess exactly what it was that Boris did, guessing a new and more illegal profession each time but he wouldn’t budge.

“Not even close,” Boris laughed. “But I can send you the money if you want?” And just like that, the worry about last night and the conversation surrounding it dissipated as we continued to talk into the night.

I eventually migrated from where I was perched on the fire escape into bed, taking a moment to strip out of my clothes and crawl under the covers. At some point during our conversation, I heard Hobie return home and head to bed.

Our voices turned hushed as I tried not to wake Hobie, but an occasional giggle would break through the silence. After the heavy conversation we had earlier, we both seemed to be keeping it light now, trying our best to crack each other up.

Boris must have heard the rustling of my covers because he suddenly asked, “Where are you?”

“In bed,” I huffed out a quiet laugh, “Where are you?”

“What a coincidence, I am in bed, too. What are you wearing?” This question caught me off guard and heard Boris’ laugh over the tinny speaker. 

“You can’t just ask that, Boris!” I whisper-screamed.

“Hmm, only someone who is not fully dressed would take offence to such an innocent question,” Innocent my ass. I shook my head, refusing to play into Boris’ ridiculousness.

“Hmm, well Potter? We don’t have all night…” 

“You’re a perv, you know that,”

“Not a pervy question, just curious. I am trying to picture what it would be like if I was there with you,”

“With me in my bed?!” Boris ignored my comment, continuing with his pointless rant.

“If you were wondering, I am in a hotel bed in my briefs and socks,” Boris and his cold feet.

“I wasn’t curious,” I could feel myself blushing. “You know most people don’t actually ask that, right? It’s very… invasive,” Boris tsked at me.

“You Americans and your prudishness. Is just the body,” I could picture him rolling his eyes, the way he does whenever he expresses his distaste for American ideals. “Anyways, you not saying tells me just as much as if you told me. I’d bet anything you are just in your boxers,” He was right, but there was no way I was confirming it for him, so I remained quiet.

“Ha! I knew it,”

“I didn’t even say anything-”

“But you don’t deny it! Tells me everything I need to know,” 

“Tell me why you need to know this, again-” He interrupted me, ignoring my remark again.

“Besides, Potter, nothing we haven’t seen before…” My cheeks must have been flaming at this point. It was something he brought up on occasion, something I desperately tried to avoid. I didn’ know how to talk about it and I didn’t plan on starting now. 

“I’m gonna hang up, Boris…”

“No, no, Potter! Was only joking!” I wasn’t actually gonna hang up, I just knew it would make him stop, but as I glanced at my clock and saw the bright numbers proclaiming “2:43AM” I knew it was actually time to call it quits.

“It’s getting late, and I gotta work in the morning, but we can talk tomorrow?” A sign from the other end of the line.

“You’re right, Potter. You need your sleep. Okay, we talk tomorrow… same time, same place?” A smile returned to my face and I hummed in agreement.

“Okay, night Boris,”

“Goodnight, sleep tight, don’t let the bugs bite,” Boris sing-songed.

“Bedbugs, Boris,”

“Ah, too specific. You don’t want any bugs to bite,” 

“Okay, whatever, night Boris,” I could feel my eyes getting heavy.

“Goodnight, Theo. Talk tomorrow…” The call disconnected after a second. I got up to brush my teeth and wash my face quickly before returning to bed. 

By the time I was back under the covers, the sleep that was previously about to overtake me had disappeared. I tossed and turned, trying to get my mind to turn off so I could drift off, but unfortunately my body had other ideas. 

I shamefully reached beneath the covers and into my boxers. I hated doing this, always feeling a sick, `ing sensation in my stomach as I worked to get myself off. I tried to keep my mind blank, but the image of pale legs and socked feet drifted into my mind. Legs covered in scars and black briefs. Guiltily, I allowed myself to play out the fantasy, as long as I kept the picture below the hips. 

As I reached the peak, my self control out of my grasp, straight teeth and unruly hair flashed behind my eyes and I shuddered as I felt myself tip over the edge.

Mortified, I mopped up the mess on my stomach with a tissue and threw it in the garbage. Despite getting rid of the evidence of what I had done, I still felt dirty. Fortunately, the only thing my body felt was satisfied and I quickly fell into a deep sleep.

~

I had booked the consultation for my new therapist the following Tuesday. Thankfully, the week was busy enough to keep my mind occupied, too much going on to allow me to wallow in worry or self-pity. 

Instead, I was whisked away in a sudden influx of sales, late night calls with Boris, and cleaning up with Hobie. For whatever reason, he decided that now was the time to sort through his workshop, trying to get rid of the old junk clogging up the space.

Everyday after I closed up the store, I would spend a couple hours helping him organize, arrange, and discard the piles of supplies he had. Between this and my conversations with Boris, I was exhausted by the time my head hit the pillow.

In no time, Tuesday arrived. It was an overcast day but unlikely to rain according to Hobie who always checked the weather before my weekly appointments. 

I had awoken early, heart thrumming with nerves as I wondered how my meeting would go. As I dressed, I pondered over what this therapist would be like. I didn’t read too much into the website, but it seemed very calm and relaxed. That was good, I figured. It would be a nice change from being on edge, as I was with my last therapist. 

I double-checked that I had my phone safely in my pocket before heading downstairs. Hobie was in his workshop, still tidying what was left of the mess.

“Bye!” I shouted before pushing through the front door and out onto the street. It was only about a half an hour walk, so I decided to forgo a cab. I had the time to walk and it always calmed me to weave through the traffic of the city on foot, reminding me of a simpler time before my life ended. 

I passed businessmen yelling into their phones and street vendors selling everything from hotdogs to knock-off bags. I kept my head down for the most part, not letting myself get distracted by my surroundings. In moments like this, I wished I could just pop some headphones in and listen to music, but the thought of having one of my senses compromised but me on edge. I worried that something would happen and I wouldn’t even realize it before it was too late. 

In lieu of music to keep my mind occupied, I thought about the conversation I had with Boris the night before. It was one of our more casual conversations, staying light and playful. Honestly, there wasn’t anything special about it, but I couldn’t help smiling thinking of all the ways I had made Boris laugh. Once I had finished replaying our conversation in my head, I let my thoughts wander. 

He was easy to entertain but I still cherished the memory of making him feel happy. For all that we had both gone through in our lives, the ability to laugh it off was something that we both benefited from.

Suddenly, I realized I had arrived at my destination. There was nothing special separating this building from all the others on the street. I’d probably have walked past it without a second glance had I not been looking out for it. 

Hesitantly, I approached the door, wondering if this appointment would be just another disappointment in a long string of failures. The sign within the door pointed me upstairs to the 4th floor, where the office was located. 

I lazily made my way up the nondescript stairway, running out of time before my scheduled appointment but not feeling any sense of urgency. The happiness I experienced thinking about my conversation with Boris has washed away, leaving me with only the feeling of dread pooling in the pit of my stomach. 

Once I reached the 4th floor, I saw a small, silver plaque proudly proclaiming “Mindful Psychotherapy Services” on the closest door. I glanced at my watch and realized I only had 3 minutes before my appointment started.

Sighing, I reluctantly entered the office. As soon as I entered, I let out a quiet gasp. I was expecting the same grey-toned waiting room that I had seen from previous therapy attempts, but instead I was met with a bright room, filled with lush plants and multi-coloured chairs. Soft blue walls covered with various posters were cut up by tall windows letting in the light. 

The one other person waiting was sitting in a comfy-looking orange chair and seemed to notice my shock. He gave me a small smile and a nod, which spurred me back into movement. I turned to the receptionist desk and was greeted by a friendly looking young woman. Her face was pierced and I could see tattoos creeping up from the neck of her blouse. 

“Hello, is this your first time here?” She asked, kindly.

“Umm, yeah, I have an appointment at 8:30?”

“Ah, Theodore, right? I knew there had to be a reason I didn’t recognize that name. I was starting to think I was just getting forgetful,” She laughed, leaving me feeling baffled at her warm attitude. The other receptionists weren’t rude or anything, but they seemed to deal with all interactions with a cold, clinical professionalism. This girl was the complete opposite of what I had come to expect. 

“Okay, Katherine will be out any minute now but feel free to have a seat,” She gestured towards the seats, but before I could even walk the few steps to sit, one of the doors off to the side opened, revealing a middle-aged woman in a pink blazer.

“Theodore,” She called out, then smiled when she saw me. My legs felt like Jello as I walked towards her. She led me through a short hallway, stopping at the last doorway. Her office could only be described as cozy. Instead of a desk and wooden chairs, multiple armchairs and couches filled the space. The plants from the front lobby also seemed to be a theme throughout the offices because they filled this room as well.

“Take your pick, but the green one is the comfiest,” I followed her instruction and sat down on the soft green chair. It was comfy, but it didn’t stop the nerves running through me. She sat opposite me on a grey couch, grabbing a clipboard from a tiny table in a corner. 

Looking around, this room looked less like an office and more like any living room you’d find in a New York apartment, small but obviously well loved. The thought put me at ease, just a little bit.

“So, Theodore, it’s great to meet you! I am Doctor Katherine Adams, but you can call me Katherine or Kathy, whichever you feel most comfortable with. Do you go by Theodore or…” She trailed off and I realized she was waiting for me to answer.

“Theodore’s okay but I mostly go by Theo,”

“Theo it is!” She quickly scribbled something onto the paper in her clipboard. I eyed it warily. The note-taking was always something that put me on edge.

“I’m just writing down your preferred name,” She said, seeming to hear my thoughts. Looking up, she looked me in the eye while continuing to talk to me. “I know it’s strange to have someone writing notes about you while you talk but I only do it for important information so I remember for our next sessions. I try to avoid it but my memory isn’t what it used to be,” She laughed, and it was light and airy. 

“That’s okay,” I felt better knowing that she wasn’t using it to assess me right off the bat. 

“So, Theo, what brings you here?” A loaded question to start off the appointment.

“Well, I’ve been attending therapy for a few years now but I haven’t really found someone that fit? And my friend said that you’re miracle workers-”

“Let me just stop you right there,” I froze, taken aback with her abruptness. “I don’t want to sound harsh but we are not miracle workers. I don’t perform miracles. What I do is lead you on a path where you can lead the life you want, but it’s not magic. Therapy is a two-way street,”

“Oh, that’s, um, good to know,” I hesitated before continuing. “I guess my friend just meant that you really helped someone she knows and she thought it would be a good fit for me?” 

“That’s good to hear? I’m glad people have found our help useful. Now, what issues are you looking to work through?” I didn’t mean to, but I let out a little laugh. She raised her eyebrows at me, not unkindly, just confused.

“Sorry, I , uh, just feel like I don’t know where I would even start…” Her confusion quickly morphed into understanding. 

“That’s okay, Theo. Let me rephrase the question: why do you think your friend, the one who recommended you here, why does she think you need help?” That was much easier to answer.

“Probably the drug use, for the most part,” Her expression didn’t waver as I confessed this, so I went on. “She’s worried about me for other reasons too, though. Says I’m upset a lot and that she wants me to be happy. There’s a lot more than what she knows, but, um, I’d say that’s a good start…”

“That is a good start, Theo. Identifying a problem, regardless of how big or small, is essential to the process. My next question is: are you here because of this friend, or others, encouraging you, or have you sought help of your own volition?” There was no judgement in her tone and I felt myself compelled to be honest.

“Mostly the first one. This friend and Hobie, my… adoptive father? They’re both adamant that I go to therapy. They don’t force me or anything but I know it’s something that they want. Oh, and my other friend is encouraging about it, too,” 

“It’s important to have a good support system in place, like the one you seem to have, but ultimately you made the decision to come here, right?” I nodded. “That’s wonderful. It’s a much smoother progress, with much faster breakthroughs when you actually want to be here,” I smiled as I thought about this. Despite the pushing from Pippa and Hobie and Boris, they didn’t force me to get help. I got help because I did actually want to get better.

“Yeah, I guess so,” I said, rather inadequately, but Katherine didn’t seem to mind my non-answer.

“Okay, well, if you’re ready, let’s get down to business. I work with people who are dealing with a wide variety of struggles, including substance abuse, but each individual is different. If I ever give you advice that doesn’t work or you don’t feel comfortable doing, let me know and we’ll come up with another solution. If I ever ask you a question that you don’t feel comfortable answering, tell me and I won’t push you. Opening up is important but it has to happen on your time. I’d rather wait for you to share than push you to tell me something and you end up feeling uncomfortable. Communication is key!” Despite the fact that this seemed to be a common speech she had to give, she sounded sincere in every word.

“Okay, I can do that,” I was feeling more hopeful about this therapist than before.

“To start, can I ask you a few background questions?” She went on to ask me questions about my date of birth, where I live, my occupation, and my hobbies, pausing occasionally to jot down a quick note. After ploughing through what seemed like the basics, she asked me a question I’d been dreading.

“So, Theo, can you tell me about your family?” She looked at me, noticing the way my body went rigid and clarified, “I don’t need details yet, just the general idea,” That was a little easier.

“My mother and father are both dead,” I said quickly, ripping off the bandaid. “I don’t have any siblings and I don’t have contact with any of my extended family,”

“What about the adoptive father you mentioned?”

“Oh, yeah I live with Hobie. He took me in when I was younger, um, I’ve lived with him since I was 15? He was the one who introduced me to dealing antiques,” I looked up and saw her nodding her head as she made a quick note.

“That’s all I need for now, unless you want to share anything else?”

“No, I, uh, I think that’s all,”

“Okay,” She looked down at her clipboard, “Can you tell me a little bit about the friends you mentioned? The ones who are a part of your support system?”

“Well, Pippa lives in England but we call each other almost everyday. I’ve known her since I was 13,” I didn’t let myself think about our first meeting, “But we’ve recently become a lot closer. She’s kinda related to Hobie? Not by blood, but… it’s complicated…” I trailed off trying to think of a way to explain the relation when I barely understood it myself.

“That’s okay. What about the other friend you mentioned?”

God, how could I explain Boris to someone who had never met him. I’d mentioned him once or twice to previous therapists, but never anything in detail, worried that they would think I was making things up. I decided to continue with this strategy.

“His name’s Boris. I met Boris when I was 13, too. We lost contact for a while but ran into each other 2 years ago. He travels a lot for work but we text and call each other as much as we can,”

“Do you have any friends in New York? Or ones you see in person on a regular basis?” It wasn’t a judgemental question but I still felt embarrassed. I didn’t want to get into my complicated relationship with the Barbours, at least not yet.

“Not really, no,” I looked at the floor as I said it.

“That’s okay, Theo, it gets harder and harder to make friends as you get older, but it’s nice to have people that you get to see, face to face. People that you can go out for dinner or drinks with,” I must have grimaced because she changed her tone up, “If that’s not your thing, that’s fine. Not everyone thrives on a lot of social interaction. But, whenever I talk to someone who has a small social circle, I have to ask: is it because you are truly happy with it or are there other underlying reasons?” Wow, and I thought that today wouldn’t be that deep. “Either answer is okay, but it’s important that you explore that,” I nodded, and she seemed to think that was good enough for now. Putting down her clipboard, she glanced at her watch.

“Okay, our hour’s almost up,” I looked at my watch, not believing her, but she was right. I had been here for 50 minutes talking and listening. Never had an appointment gone by this fast before. “I have some homework for you this week,”

“Okay,”

“So, right now you’re dealing with some issues surrounding drugs, correct?”

“Yes,” I said, still feeling ashamed.

“Have you been using recently?”

“Not in a few months,”

“That’s great, Theo” Her smile made warmth erupt in my chest with the sudden feeling of pride. “Okay then, what I want you to do is each time you feel like using a substance, avoid it if you can, but either way I want you to write down what you think caused that urge. I don’t care what you write, just that you are trying to become more in tune with your emotions. I won’t read anything you write, but you’re welcome to share some of your thoughts with me next week. How does that sound?” I’d written out my thoughts before, especially after what happened in Amsterdam. It wasn’t focused or even coherent but I think it had helped me at the time. And besides, no one would have to read it, so, really, what was the risk?

“It sounds good. Writing’s helped me before,” I shared, in a moment of sincerity. 

“Writing is a great tool for self-reflection, especially in therapy. Maybe I’ll have you do more writing in the future… but for now we need to book your next appointment,” She pulled out a small planner from the table beside her. “How was the timing today? I can fit you in at the same time next week?”

“That’s perfect,” The familiarity of my Tuesday appointments was comforting, something I didn’t want to change if I could avoid it. 

“Okay, just confirm with Kasey, the receptionist at the front desk, she’ll make sure you’re in the system,” We both rose from our chairs. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Theo,”

“Thank you. I’m looking forward to our next appointment,” It surprised me just how much I meant it. 

I left her office and quickly confirmed with the girl with the tattoos, Kasey, that I was set for my appointment next Tuesday, before heading back out onto the busy street. Walking along the sidewalk, I felt lighter than I had in a while. Nothing had really changed, but I felt hopeful! Hopeful for the first time in 2 years that someone would actually be able to help me. I reached into my pocket, fishing out my phone. I found Pippa’s number and called her, smiling as I listened to the ring.

“Theo!” She exclaimed from halfway across the world. “How are you? How did your appointment go?”

“It actually went great… thanks for telling me about this place,” 

“Woah, is that actual happiness? Coming from Theodore Decker? I don’t believe it,” She laughed into the phone and I couldn’t help letting out a small chuckle.

“Believe it,” I said, quietly.

“Sooooo…? Tell me about it! What happened?”

“Honestly, I don’t even know,” I signed, trying to verbalize the reason for my mood. “It wasn’t so much what she did, but how she made me feel? Her demeanor was warm and welcoming. She didn’t judge me. She talked me through what she was doing. I don’t know, I just feel hopeful,”

“Theo, that’s wonderful!”

“Yeah,” We continued talking, yet that buoyant feeling didn’t go away. Usually, whenever I started feeling hopeful, the dread would creep in, the knowledge that my hope would inevitably lead to disappointment. Not this time. It was weird, not experiencing that crash. 

By the time I returned home, conversation with Pippa concluded, I started getting a little worried. Not worried enough to overpower my happiness, but the thoughts drifted through my consciousness like wisps of smoke. Thoughts that something must be wrong with me for feeling happy. I blew them away. 

It was past 10 by the time I walked through the front door. I could hear Hobie clanking around in the workshop. I knew I had a few hours to kill before Hobie expected me to help him make lunch, so I made my way to my room. It was rare that I got to just relax on a day off, and unheard of that I felt good while doing it, but I didn’t want to let it go to waste.

I toed off my shoes and fell into my bed, letting my head sink into my pillow. I drifted in and out of sleep for a little while before I felt my phone buzz in my pocket. I rubbed groggily at my eyes before sitting up. Fishing my phone out, I saw I had a text from Boris.

Borya [10:53am]  
POTTER! how did therapy go today?!

Theo [10:59am]  
It actually went really well.

Borya [11:00am]  
this is excellent! you deserve to be HAPPY :D

I laughed at his enthusiasm, but today, I think I could actually be genuine with him.

Theo [11:03]  
You helped me. Thank you :-)

Boris, of course, brushed this off, insisting that’s what friends were for, but I could feel my gratitude, not only for him, but for Pippa and Hobie as well. I didn’t want to push it, though, there was only so much I could bare my heart in one day and I was already emotionally exhausted. 

I let our conversation veer away from therapy and onto the silly things we said to make each other laugh. Eventually, I heard Hobie call for me from downstairs. 

Theo [12:14pm]  
Okay I have to help Hobie make lunch.

Borya [12:15pm]  
enjoy!!! and tell Mr Hobie I say hello

Borya [12:15pm]  
ttyl :*

Boris and his weird symbols. I shook my head as I hurried to meet Hobie in the kitchen.

“So, Theo,” His warm voice greeted me, “How did it go today?” He was faced away from me, the way he tended to be when he asked me these questions. I’m not sure if it was for his benefit or mine. 

“It went well… really well actually…” Hobie turned towards me and he was beaming.

“That’s great, Theo. I’m happy for you,” I felt warm and proud and hopeful under his gaze. As we set off making lunch, it felt like this feeling of weightlessness would never leave me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am not a therapist however I have attended therapy for many years now. I want to try to convey the experience I have gone through with therapy, while adapting it to Theo's situation. I'm sorry if anything is not accurate.
> 
> I'm hoping to have the next chapter out by next week.
> 
> Stay safe and see you next time! ❤️

**Author's Note:**

> I am not a therapist however I have attended therapy for many years now. Some of the descriptions of the "bad" therapists are based on my own journey through therapy. I want to convey the message to anyone looking to start therapy that finding a therapist you click with can take a lot of trial and error but don't give up! There's someone out there who can help you.
> 
> [Mindful Psychotherapy Services](https://www.mindful.nyc/) is a real clinic in New York City that I think would be a good match for Theo. 
> 
> If you are experiencing a mental health crisis there are many resources you can reach out to, including [this](https://checkpointorg.com/global/) website that offers a list of crisis lines, links, and other resources for those who need help.
> 
> There is (as Boris said) no shame in going to therapy. I urge anyone who is struggling to reach out for the help they need!
> 
> Stay safe and see you next time ❤️


End file.
